


Cold Light of Day

by patchfire, raving_liberal



Series: Story of Three Boys/Rambling Wrecks AUs [7]
Category: Glee, Rambling Wrecks
Genre: Broken System, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Eating Disorders, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, M/M, Running Away, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 06:15:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchfire/pseuds/patchfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Casey gets sent back to his parents during the events of ‘Statistic’ (3x21)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Light of Day

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Self-harm, implied eating disorder or weight loss as a result of neglect/abuse, major child abuse and neglect, homophobia, a broken system
> 
> **Authors’ Notes:** The following story is an AU and not part of the SOTB/RW canon. **Please observe all warnings when deciding to read.** Extended warnings for Horrible Things week can be found [here](http://storyof3boys.livejournal.com/125422.html). 
> 
> Not a new work. We're migrating the AUs away from the SOTB series and into their own, so we can get the odd tags and pairings off the SOTB series tags!

Hudson sounds like death warmed over when he answers the phone, croaking, “Karofsky?”

“They’re going to send him back,” Dave says, his voice breaking a little. “They think I’m lying. Brought up everything last year, too.”

“What? Sending him back where?” Hudson asks. “What do they think you’re lying about? Who’s _they_?”

“To his _dad_ ,” Dave tries to explain. “I think the CPS lady believed me, but Mick and Amy lied, and the police say he has to go back.”

“No. No, that’s not right,” Hudson insists stubbornly. “They wouldn’t do that. Why would they do that?” He coughs into the phone a few times. “Sorry.”

“Blamed the injuries on Fordham. Said it was just another gay kid,” Dave says acidly. “And me? I’m some kind of creep I guess. ‘You know he’s not yet sixteen’.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, man. What’s that have to do with anything?” Hudson coughs again. “Wouldn’t that be _why_ they’d want to keep him away from those assholes?”

“I guess because they’re his parents, technically? I don’t know,” Dave confesses. “But they pretty much warned me to stay away from him.”

“But you know his dad hits him, you’re like a witness or something! If you and Casey both say the same thing, they have to listen to you.”

“Yeah, I thought that too.” Dave sighs and rubs his hand over his face. “But if Mick and Amy tell a different story, and you know if they ask Fordham, he’ll say he did beat Casey up. Even if he didn’t, he’ll take all the blame. Or credit, I guess, in his mind.” Dave exhales. “Suddenly it’s this huge older queer misleading the innocent or something.”

“That’s fucked up. That’s so fucked up,” Hudson says. “Shit, Dave. Is there anything you can do about it? Like, I dunno. A lawyer or something?”

“There’s nothing really official to fight. Just strongly worded suggestions.” Dave closes his eyes. “He gets discharged on Thursday and they expect him to go right back to that house.”

“But his dad’ll just beat him up again! I’m gonna talk to Burt. Burt’ll know what to do,” Hudson says. “Shit, this is so fucked up, man. I’m sorry.”

“Think I’ll skip PFLAG,” Dave says. “Just not up for it.”

“Yeah. Makes sense. You want me to tell Kurt and Puck what’s going on?”

“Yeah, that’s cool. Not cool. I don’t even know what I’m saying right now, to be honest.” Dave sighs. “I promised him he wouldn’t have to go back.”

“It’s not your fault, Dave,” Hudson says. “This is fucked up and it’s not your fault.”

“I just wish it didn’t feel like it was.”

Hudson sighs, then he coughs some more, then he says, “Yeah. Let me know if there’s anything we can do, ok?”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks, man.” Dave ends the call and sets his phone down on the table in front of him, not knowing what to do. The message had been clear: he wasn’t welcome in Casey’s room. While he was at the hospital, the combined power of the hospital and the police would keep Dave away, and afterwards, there was definitely a threat hanging over Dave’s head. Mick didn’t want Dave hanging around Mick’s son, the police officer had said, and it had been clear that the officer agreed. He wouldn’t have wanted Dave hanging around his son, either.

 

On Friday morning, Dave heads towards Casey’s locker. A minute later, Figgins walks by and gives Dave a glare, then shoos Dave with his hands, so Dave sighs and goes to stand outside Casey’s first period class. He almost doesn’t see Casey, who is shrinking in on himself, walking down the hall with his head down. Dave can’t see Casey’s face, and he waits until Casey is almost to Dave before he whispers. “Case?”

Casey startles and he looks up sharply. Casey’s face is a mass of bruises, one side of his face looking more freshly bruised than the other, somehow, and Dave internally winces. 

“David!” Casey says quietly, his tone a mix of fear and relief. “Hi.”

“I’m sorry,” Dave blurts out. 

Casey shakes his head faintly. “No. It’s not your fault. Don’t be sorry.”

“I told you that you wouldn’t have to go back there.”

“You couldn’t stop them.”

“Still.” Dave exhales. “Shit, Case.”

“I know. I know,” Casey says. He looks up and down the hall, his eyes darting around. “I’m not supposed to be around you anymore.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dave shifts. “Just wanted— well.” It doesn’t really matter what Dave wants, or even what Casey wants, as far as Dave can tell. 

“I don’t care what they say, though,” Casey says fiercely. “I just don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Yeah. I know. I think the woman from CPS believed us, but she couldn’t do anything. Maybe soon?”

Casey’s shoulders sag. “If I have to talk to her again… David, I’m scared to tell her anything.”

“I don’t think she can tell them what you say, not unless she’s taking you away from there. I think. You can ask her.”

“I won’t tell her you’re a liar, though,” Casey says. “I won’t let anybody say you are.”

“We can’t really stop them,” Dave says softly, because he has a good idea of what the police would say and what Mick would say, if Casey started defending him. 

“No, I won’t _let_ them,” Casey repeats, balling up his fists. “They can make me say other things and do other things, but they can’t say you lied.”

Dave shrugs, because he doesn’t want to argue, especially not with Casey, and there’s no harm in Casey feeling that way. “I’ll try to find you later,” Dave says. “You’d better get into your class.”

Casey’s face falls and his hands go limp by his sides. “Okay, David,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry all of this happened.”

“Me too,” Dave whispers, watching Casey walk into his classroom before he turns to head towards his own first period class. It doesn’t matter now what the truth of any of it is. The official word has been handed down by the people with power, and Dave knows he’s the creepy guy in the awful 60s public service announcements that Santana made him watch. 

 

On Monday morning, Dave gets called out of his first period class to go to Figgins’ office. Since Dave hasn’t done anything to warrant a visit to the principal’s office, he figures it’s about Casey. Sure enough, when he gets there, it’s Figgins and Ms. Pillsbury, and Dave figures someone went running to tell Figgins that he saw Dave and Casey talking.

“David, if you will have a seat please,” Figgins says as soon as Dave walks into the office.

Dave wants to stand up for the entire meeting, just because Figgins wants him to sit, but he decides that might not be the best course of action, and sits down instead, glowering at Figgins. 

“As you are aware, you have been asked by the parents of Casey O’Brien not to contact him,” Figgins begins.

“Actually, no. I got threatened by a police officer who couldn’t give me an actual reason,” Dave retorts. 

Figgins barely waits for Dave to finish talking before he continues, “Mr. O’Brien has informed the school that you are not to speak with his son on school grounds. Unfortunately, my hands are tied with this, David. No one wishes for this to become a matter involving law enforcement, I am sure you agree.”

“Can you show me what rule I’m breaking, exactly?” Dave asks. “There’s nothing for the police _to_ get involved with, except for going after the people actually hurting Casey.”

“With your record of past behavior at this school, we all feel it would be in yours and Casey’s best interests if you would refrain from having any contact with him while on McKinley property,” Figgins says. 

“Casey’s best interest is getting away from his abusive home situation.” Dave stares at Figgins. “Again, what rule would I be breaking?”

“David, calm yourself before you say or do something to endanger your continued education at McKinley,” Figgins warns.

Dave narrows his eyes at Figgins. “Excuse me?” He’s not sure how, in the past week, he got to the point of being threatened by almost every adult he encounters. 

“David,” Ms. Pillsbury says softly. “Why don’t you and I go speak in my office?” She looks at Figgins before continuing. “I think we’ve covered the pertinent points here, don’t you, Principal Figgins?” Figgins must nod or something, because Ms. Pillsbury stands up and gestures for Dave to follow her down the hall and into her office. 

“I believe you,” she says, closing the door and turning around. “I do. And the CPS investigation is still open. We’ll keep observing things, but there’s nothing that can be done right now.”

“This is bull— excuse me. This is completely ridiculous. His dad is hurting him!”

“And I agree with you, David, but we have to work within the confines of the law for now.” Ms. Pillsbury sits down and starts scrubbing at a part of her desk. “You should know that Casey will not be allowed to attend PFLAG any longer.”

“What? They can’t do that!”

“Principal Figgins,” Ms. Pillsbury continues, staring at the desk as she scrubs, “has made it clear that any controversy raised by a parent about his or her child’s attendance will result in him shutting down the entire group.”

“But— can he _do_ that?”

“Probably not officially, no, but by the time it’s straightened out, the school year would be over.” Ms. Pillsbury looks up and squares her shoulders. “I’m very sorry, David. The workers at CPS and I are going to do our best, and of course Will—Mr. Schuester—and Coach Beiste will turn a blind eye to any interactions we witness, but you should be aware that Principal Figgins has asked the faculty to let him know about any number of ‘potentially disruptive situations’. There was quite a list attached to that email, of which you and Casey were merely one item.”

“Right,” Dave says hollowly. It makes sense. Figgins probably dug up things from years ago just to flesh out his list, but of course Figgins wants to cover his ass. And as much as Dave wants Casey to be at PFLAG— the entire club? Dave has trouble comprehending it. He doesn’t understand why Mick O’Brien is being allowed to have so much power. Because it is about allowing it, whatever Figgins might say. There’s no rule Figgins can point to, no justification. It’s just clearly _easier_ for Figgins to sacrifice Casey in the interest of a seemingly calm school. 

 

For whatever reason, there’s no school a week later, on a Friday, and the night before, Dave is in bed but not asleep when he hears a noise outside. First a rustle, then some scraping noises before he hears the ‘ting’ of a small rock hitting the side of the house. Dave frowns and goes to the window, then sees enough to realize it’s Casey outside, and he hurries down the stairs, opening the front door as quietly as he can. 

“Case?”

“Hi,” Casey says. “Um. It’s late. I’m sorry.” Casey has a freshly busted lip and he’s shivering, probably because he doesn’t have even a jacket on. 

“Come in,” Dave says quietly. “It’s warm in here, anyway.”

“Maybe I should— I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here.” Casey takes a step back. “I’ll go.”

“At least warm up first,” Dave says, stepping back and opening the door more widely. Casey’s probably right; it’s probably bad for both of them if Casey’s there, Dave because of Mick’s legal threats and Casey because of Mick’s fists. It’s one in the morning, though, and the last thing that needs to happen is Casey turning right around and walking back to that house. 

“Okay, David,” Casey says. He steps inside the house, turning sideways as he passes by Dave to avoid brushing against him. Dave frowns and closes the door, wincing when it squeaks slightly. There’s no movement from his dad upstairs, though, and Dave exhales, gesturing for Casey to follow him towards the kitchen. 

“You want something to drink?” Dave whispers. “Coffee?” Casey’s hands are hidden by his sleeves, which no doubt means he doesn’t even have on an approximation of gloves. Dave feels just as helpless as he’s felt for three weeks, but at least he can get Casey warm. 

Casey nods, but doesn’t say anything else. Dave starts the coffeemaker, reasoning that the smell is unlikely to wake up his dad, and then looks through the refrigerator until he finds the leftovers from Chinese on Wednesday night. He slides the container towards Casey without a word, grabbing utensils and the spare pair of chopsticks before setting all of it in front of Casey. Casey rolls one of the chopsticks back and forth with his fingertips, but doesn’t touch the food.

“I’m sorry,” Casey says. 

Dave shakes his head. “No need.” None of it’s Casey’s fault. It’s all just one person’s fault, the way Dave sees it, one person and the people he’s bullied into believing him. Mick O’Brien has a lot to answer for, but no one’s even asking the questions. 

“I wanted to see you,” Casey says after a few minutes pass in silence. 

“Yeah,” Dave says softly. “I’m so sorry.” If only Dave were different, maybe, then things wouldn’t have gotten so fucked up. Dave’s history, Dave’s record, Dave’s actions. Maybe if someone else had been the one to tell the police and CPS, they would have been believed.

“Don’t be,” Casey says, shaking his head slowly as he stares down at the table. “Not your fault.”

“Ms. Pillsbury said they’re still trying to get you out of there,” Dave offers. “I know it’s not enough and not soon enough, but it’s something.”

Casey raises and lowers one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Doesn’t matter anymore,” he says. 

Dave sighs and nods a little, because he sort of understands what Casey means. Everything is wrong, and even if someone manages to do the right thing, how long is it going to take? The coffee finally finishes and he pours them each a large mug, handing Casey’s to him. Casey drinks it silently, holding the mug with both hands. The two of them sit in the kitchen in silence, drinking coffee, for hours. Eventually, Casey looks even more exhausted, and finally his head pillows on his arms, and Dave knows he’s sleeping, albeit uncomfortably. 

Dave doesn’t wake Casey up, just checks the thermostat and pours himself more coffee, sitting in the silent kitchen until the darkness outside turns grey and he hears first Paul’s alarm, then the shower start. While the shower runs, Dave washes the two coffee mugs and the coffeepot, then turns to Casey and puts his hand on Casey’s shoulder. 

“Casey,” Dave whispers. “Sorry, Casey. It’s morning.”

Casey rubs his eyes with the back of his hand as he lifts his head off the table. “Already?”

“Yeah. You want a pack of pop-tarts to take with you?”

Casey’s head drops and he shakes it slightly. As Casey stands up, his hands go back into his sleeves, and Dave can see that he’s steeling himself. 

“I’m so sorry,” Dave whispers. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Nobody can do anything,” Casey says, his tone leaden. “This is how it is. Nobody can do anything.”

“Or the people that can, won’t,” Dave agrees. He walks back towards the front door, listening to make sure Paul’s shower is still running. “I’ll see you Monday, Case.” He can’t talk to Casey on the phone or via email, not anymore, and there’s no way that he’ll put Casey at risk by trying to see him over the weekend. The busted lip is what’s visible. Who knows what else Mick has done or will do?

 

Just past Casey’s birthday, which they weren’t allowed to celebrate, Hudson finds Dave alone in the weight room. He looks over his shoulders to make sure nobody else is in the room before he levels a look at Dave.

“You’re not ok,” Finn says bluntly.

“No,” Dave concedes, then shrugs. “Nothing to do about it.”

“Talk to me, then,” Finn offers. “What’s going on? Any updates or anything?”

Dave shakes his head. “Ms. Pillsbury says there’s still a file open. That she’s doing what she can. It’s just not enough.” He sighs. “Casey’s started walking over some nights. We just sit in the kitchen and drink coffee and eventually he sleeps for a little bit. Dad doesn’t know.”

“He knows,” Finn says.

“What?” Dave looks up, startled. “No, he’s always asleep.”

“Started that day we had off school, right?” Finn asks.

“How’d you know that?”

“He called Burt that day to ask what he should do about it, if anything,” Finn says. “Burt said as long as he acted like he didn’t know, he didn’t have to anything about it, and at least Casey was someplace safe for a few hours.” Finn shrugs. “Burt told Kurt about that night.”

“And Kurt told you and Puckerman,” Dave finishes. “Right. Yeah. I try to get him to eat something, but usually he refuses.”

“Well, middle of the night, I guess?” Finn offers. “I don’t even usually want to eat something at like two in the morning. Usually.”

“He’s lost weight.” Dave sighs. “I don’t know if he’s really eating at all. There was never a lot of food in that house to begin with, and I can’t imagine Mick’s shelling out to feed him now.” Dave can hear the bitterness in his voice, but he can’t bring himself to particularly care to try and temper it. 

“You’d think that son of a bitch would be more worried about that kind of stuff,” Finn says. “They’ve _got_ to see how bad it is for Casey at some point.”

“I think— I think he actually thinks he’s in the right,” Dave says, voice full of loathing. “That’s what’s so disgusting. And the cops just went along with it, or at least the one guy did.”

“I just don’t understand it, man,” Finn says. He shakes his head, like the whole situation is just too much to make sense of. “How could they not see what was right in front of them? How could they think that Fordham did that to him? It just doesn’t make any sense to me.”

Dave shrugs. “Guess they see what they want to see.”

“Kurt finished the car,” Finn says. “So that’s something.”

“The car?” Dave asks blankly, and he frowns, thinking back. “Oh, right. Car. But there’s no way he can have it, not now.”

“Kurt slipped the key and a note into his locker, let him know we’ve got it parked at Burt’s shop whenever he needs it,” Finn explains. “It’s got a full tank of gas, and Puck put some stuff in the back for him. We didn’t paint it yellow like you said, though. Burt and Puck both thought it’d be better to stick with black.”

Dave nods slowly. A yellow car would stick out; an older black car will blend in, in Lima and beyond it, too. “Stuff?” he asks, then exhales. “Oh. Fuck. Yeah, okay. That makes sense.” And it does, a horrible sort of sense, the sort of sense where living out of a car would be better for Casey than where he’s currently living. 

“Maybe the fucking system’ll get it straightened out and he won’t need to,” Finn says. “Just in case, though, you know?”

“I think the system only works if you’re extremely lucky,” Dave says cynically. “But yeah. Maybe Ms. Pillsbury’ll manage to do something.”

“Maybe, man,” Finn sighs. “I hope so.”

 

Since Dave knows now that Paul is aware of Casey’s nighttime visits, Dave goes to bed at 9:30 or 10 at night, setting his alarm for just before one, so he can be awake, the coffee brewing, when Casey arrives. It’s not every night that Casey walks to Dave’s house, but Dave is ready, just in case, every night. They rarely talk, and Dave knows if Mick finds out, Casey will be hurt badly, but he can’t make himself turn Casey away, not when it’s the only time he can see him. So they just sit and drink coffee, miserable in the same space. 

Dave sees Casey’s shadow out the window, then quietly opens the door, the outside light still off. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Casey whispers. After Dave closes the door, but before he can start leading the way to the kitchen, Casey steps closer to Dave, goes up on his toes, and kisses Dave.

Dave puts his arm around Casey, steadying them both, and returns the kiss before pulling back. “Case?”

“You’re my best thing,” Casey whispers. “You’re my only safe place.”

“I’m so sorry,” Dave says quietly, trying not to cry. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t fix everything.”

“I’m sorry it’s so broken,” Casey answers, tears falling silently from his eyes. He kisses Dave again, his face wet where it touches Dave’s. Dave’s arm around Casey’s waist tightens, and he can’t help but notice as they kiss, that Casey’s far skinnier than Dave thought, whittled down to nearly nothing. 

When the kiss ends, Dave shakes his head. “None of this is your fault, Case.”

“It’s not yours, either,” Casey says. His hand finds Dave’s, and he starts slowly walking backwards towards the stairs, gently pulling Dave along with him. Dave follows him, stepping as lightly as he can, not knowing if his dad is actually awake or not. Once they’re on the stairs, Dave nudges Casey to walk facing forward, and after they step into Dave’s room, Dave closes that door, too. 

Once the door is closed, Casey’s up on his toes, his lips against Dave’s again and his arms around Dave’s neck. Dave puts both arms carefully around Casey, then lifts him too easily and sets him on the bed, Dave sitting beside him. As they keep kissing, Casey puts his hands on the back of Dave’s head. He pulls Dave forward, breaking the kiss, until their foreheads are touching.

“I love you,” Casey whispers. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Dave says quietly. 

Casey kisses Dave again, then moves his hands down Dave’s back to pull up on the hem of his T-shirt. Dave moves his arms, letting Casey pull his T-shirt off, and then he lifts Casey’s T-shirt. When he looks back at Casey, he can feel his breath catch at how skinny Casey is, how his ribs are protruding, and the burns on his arms. There are bruises covering Casey’s torso and upper arms, where Mick obviously knows they won’t normally be seen. It isn’t until a tear drops onto Dave’s arm that he realizes he’s crying along with Casey, and Dave leans in to kiss Casey again. Everything is wrong, but at least for a few hours, they can make each other feel better. 

 

When Dave wakes up the next morning, there’s early spring sun lighting the room, Casey is gone, and there’s a harsh pounding on the front door. Dave hears his dad answer the door, and someone asking questions, barking them at his dad, and Paul’s attempts to answer calmly. Then Dave can hear his dad coming up the stairs and stopping in the doorway, which makes Dave realize the door was open. 

“David?” Paul says quietly. “David, the police are here. They need to ask you some questions.”

Dave rolls over and squints as his dad. “The police?”

“Get dressed and come downstairs,” is all Paul says, but he looks sympathetic and sad at the same time. 

When Dave gets downstairs, there are two police officers sitting at the dining room table, clearly waiting for him, and Dave breathes a sigh of relief that neither of them are who he spoke with at the hospital in February. 

“David Karofsky?”

“That’s me,” Dave agrees, taking the coffee his dad offers. 

“Do you know the current whereabouts of Casey O’Brien?”

“I assume he’s at his house,” Dave says slowly, his mind conjuring images of Mick discovering Casey arriving back home, and injuring him. 

“His mother and father reported him missing an hour ago,” the second officer says, and Dave takes a drink of his coffee, trying not to react. Either Mick did something to Casey, or Casey left, and neither is the best option ever. Not if Mick’s actually looking for him. “Mr. O’Brien specifically asked that we ascertain that Casey was not being harbored here, and that you had not incited him to run away.”

_Of course he did_ is what Dave wants to say, but he bites his tongue and shakes his head. “He’s not here. Are you sure his dad didn’t do anything to him?”

“We’re aware of the ongoing CPS investigation, and yes, we’ll thoroughly investigate that possibility as well,” the first officer tells Dave, then looks at Paul. “Could we take a quick look through your house, just to rule it out officially?” 

“Of course,” Paul says, and then there’s two cards on the table, to call if they think of anything, and the officers walk through the house until they leave, apparently satisfied. Dave exhales loudly as the door closes, then turns to Paul. 

“I’m going to go make a phone call,” he says, and then walks to his room without waiting for an answer. He closes the door and then finds the number he needs, listening to it ring. 

“Hey, Karofsky,” Hudson says. “What’s up?”

“Can you ask Kurt if the car’s gone?” Dave asks quietly. 

After a moment’s pause, Hudson sighs and says, “Yeah. Yeah, it’s gone.”

“Okay.” Dave sighs. “Okay. I just— the cops were here. I was worried it was his dad.”

“Yeah,” Hudson says again. “I’m sorry, man.”

“I don’t know if I should be upset or relieved he’s not with that bastard,” Dave admits. “I know it’s not safe out there, but compared to what the jackass was doing to him, maybe it’s better.”

“Maybe he’ll let you know where he is in a little while,” Hudson says, sounding hopeful. “He’d at least call and say goodbye, wouldn’t he?”

Dave closes his eyes, thinking back to the night before, and he shakes his head. “No, he did. I just didn’t realize that’s what it was.”

**Author's Note:**

> **The other side of the statistics:**
> 
>  
> 
> Up to forty percent of homeless youth identify as LGBTQ+, and [family rejection is the leading cause of homelessness among this population](http://thinkprogress.org/lgbt/2012/07/12/515641/study-40-percent-of-homeless-youth-are-lgbt-family-rejection-is-leading-cause/). In many major metropolitan areas, there are organizations that work to alleviate the effects, such as the [Ali Forney Center](http://www.aliforneycenter.org/) in New York City. A list of [state by state resources](http://www.aliforneycenter.org/index.cfm?fuseaction=cms.page&id=1007) can be found on the Ali Forney site; however, the number of states with centers and organizations is short, and many are limited by state laws to helping only those over eighteen. Please remember and consider these groups if you are able to donate money or are in a location to support them through donations of goods or your time.


End file.
